


Triality

by 50artists



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50artists/pseuds/50artists
Summary: Crowley had three forms.





	Triality

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [Тройственность](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19238095) by [Tinumbra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinumbra/pseuds/Tinumbra)



Crowley had three forms.

They weren’t perfectly separate - if anything he thought of himself as a sort of triangle. Maybe it would be more accurate to say he had three _extremes_ , and then met at all the intersections in the middle, too.

~*~*~

In the past he’d only had one, of course. Like any angel.

Why would he need more than one, perfect, God-given shape?

His memories of heaven were blurry, his memories of his past self even blurrier, and Crowley preferred not to dwell.

~*~*~

The first extreme, the one he used the most, was of course his human form. There wasn’t much to be done on Earth if you weren’t a human.

Crowley had always felt rather pleased with his human shape. It varied a bit over the years, with discorporations and other incidents, but all of the important parts stayed the same. Dark hair and high cheekbones, and a basic, general facial structure that seemed to be _his_.

Human reactions to that form varied wildly. Some of them found him attractive, but most of them found him off putting, in some nagging way they couldn’t quite place; even those who liked him seemed to treat him with distrust, never able to take their eyes off his back. Maybe his smile was a bit too wide. Maybe his movements were a bit too fluid. He seemed comfortable everywhere, even places where no one should be comfortable. Unnaturally relaxed.

Crowley liked his human form. Maybe it was mere exposure - he'd been stuck like that for the last six thousand years, after all - but he felt oddly settled in it. He liked the hands and the delicate, long fingers. He liked walking. Humans took it for granted, but it was a pleasant, freeing way of moving. One leg in front of the other. Oddly hypnotising.

~*~*~

Crowley's least favourite extreme was the snake.

Visually speaking, there was nothing wrong with it. It was slender and sleek, his shiny scales like hundreds of tiny mirages that rolled across his back and sides, his venomous eyes a startling and vivid yellow contrast. He liked to twine around trees and feel the strength that flowed through his shape.

But it was so  _restrictive_. No hands, for a start. No feet and no legs. It was all well and good slithering around on the floor, but he missed the height and tread of his human form. Snakes couldn't see especially well. If he was fully occupying his snake form, no alterations at all (which he very rarely did), then getting the gist of his surroundings required an awkward tongue-flickering, half blind way of navigation.

~*~*~

Crowley's demonic form was the hardest of the three to describe.

Unlike the snake and the human, it wasn't based on anything Earthly, or even Heavenly. It was something else altogether.

It wasn't exactly a comfortable form to occupy - after all, it was a direct product of Hell, and Hell had no way of making things pleasant. It wasn't a comfortable form to look at, either. Most humans would probably be unable to comprehend him at all. He'd never tried it himself, but Crowley had heard tales of humans reduced to screaming wrecks from a mere glimpse at a demon's true form.

If someone a bit more hardy, such as Aziraphale or a fellow demon, looked at Crowley's true form, there was only one feature that could definitely be picked out. His wings were gigantic, the feathers fluctuating between blood red and black, and strangely metallic. They looked as though they might be solid, or some kind of flat, smooth steel. It was only when you felt them that you realised his wings were as soft as an angel's.

As for the rest of the form, it varied. More than his other extremes, his demonic body was an expression of his interior. If he was angry he might be big and spiky and covered in blades and talons to make even the bravest of adversaries cringe. If he was tired, he might be small and hollow-boned and thin. Most of the time he hovered somewhere in the middle, mostly a mass of unblinking eyes and half-forming limbs, always spinning in and out of existence.

~*~*~

Of course, Crowley couldn't be summed up in three points. Come on. He'd been around for the last six millennia. He had nuance.

The basic human shape was always his favourite. Into that, he brought the snake eyes. He used to do it subtly, but over the last century humanity had started wearing sunglasses, and Crowley was quick to jump on the opportunity to wear his eyes just as he liked them, sickly yellow and with narrow, vertical pupils, but with all of a human's ability to distinguish colours and shapes. He liked the snake tongue, too. Little patches of the scales melted and shifted into his human skin, although you probably couldn't pick them out from the rest.

It was harder to express the parts of his demonic form he wanted. In human company, it was pretty much impossible. He only really let himself slip when he was very drunk, which was usually round at Aziraphale's shop.

First the edges of his form would start wavering. His wings weren't manifested fully, not exactly, but they became a shadow just on the edge of perception. It was always a relief to Crowley to have his wings out. Some demons avoided it at all cost; they were vulnerable and even the slightest wound hurt unbearably, but they were  _part_ of Crowley, and he didn't feel quite whole until they were sitting heavily against his back.

Next, there was a general sharpening. His fingers, which were long anyway, became more talon-like. His teeth were more like fangs. His face was still human, but it was a bit off, a bit wrong, the features a bit too exaggerated and sharp and bony for anyone made of flesh and blood.

Aziraphale's gaze always lingered on him for a long time when he took that form. Maybe, being an angel, he didn't understand Crowley's need for expression. Aziraphale was Aziraphale-shaped; his human form was basically his true form, only a bit old and with significantly less wing.

Well, if there was one true Crowley-shaped being, it was this intermediate form that he brought out in the quiet. That was free will, of a sort. The ability to say yes to some parts, and no to others, creating something that was ugly and functional and beautiful all at once.

Crowley caught his reflection in the mirror, and smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks if you've made it this far!
> 
> my tumblr is xenixat (i've been posting quite a lot of good omens art lately)


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